


In Time to Erase

by Billywick



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the incident beneath Solomon's Temple had gone differently? What is this sorcery and who is this stranger that came from the light? I suck at summarizing. This is slightly AU, Ezio stuck in Altair's time with no clue how to get home. Plot is based on AC1/Secre Crusade, with extra Italian on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In Time to Erase

Just a couple more steps and they would be above the Templars in the ruined chamber, the treasure their master so craved, right there for the taking.  
Minus the armed men between the Assassins and it, of course.

Altaïr could hear Kadar and Malik moving behind him, following his lead, as they ought to. He was, after all, their superior in rank and skill. Malik had already voiced his complaints in a most insubordinate way, berating and doubting Altaïr’s decisions. Damn little upstart, he would certainly feel some retribution for that later.

The Assassins were above the Templars now and had a perfect view of what was going on. And exactly who was in the decaying hall.  
Robert de Sable.  
Altaïr felt his muscles tense, anger whirling in his mind.This man was one of their worst enemies and here was an opportunity to get rid of him, a sure bonus to fulfilling the mission Al Mualim had given them. A perfect chance to kill two birds with one stone. Or blade, in this case.  
Altaïr could practically taste the praise he would receive for this already, his master assassin status would only be elevated and he’d be well-set on his path to succeeding his mentor.

He watched the armoured men mill around beneath the Assassins. He could make one leap, land on de Sable and bury his hidden blade deeply in the man’s neck. But that would be too easy. Robert would never see who had been his death, who had delivered justice upon him. Altaïr wanted this despicable creature to know who would kill him, whose blade would taste his blood. It would be he, Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad and no other.

And so the master Assassin did something so completely against the creed of his brothers that Malik and Kadar could do nothing but stare silently. Altaïr descended and straightened up, squaring his shoulders and faced the Templars, giving away his purpose, his presence with a defiant tilt of his chin, mustering the frenchman surrounded by his guards.

Robert didn’t even seem to be surprised as the Assassin appeared silently out of the shadows, as if he had simply walked through the old walls of the ruined temple. He glanced to his men, saw them tightening their jaws, saw them gripping the hilts of their swords, saw the fear in their eyes.

Altaïr said nothing as he strode towards them, assessing each of the knights for his fighting ability and experience. Robert was clearly a man who had lived through many battles. No emotion betrayed his expression, there was no fear in his eyes. He had witnessed the skill and deadly force of Assassins before, he knew what to expect. Clearly, he did not deem them a threat.

How arrogant.

Kadar and Malik descended behind him and silently flanked him, making Robert’s guards all the more nervous.  
More Assassins. The numbers were more even now, but there was no fear in the eyes of Al Mualim’s faithful men. A distinct advantage.

“Hold, Templars, you are not the only ones with business here.”

Any novice would have expected harsh punishment for such an action. Announcing one’s presence went against the very essence of everything Assassins were ever taught. And yet here was Altaïr, master and beloved pupil of Al Mualim himself, breaking every rule of the creed because he believed himself better. Capable of handling any situation.

But he was as arrogant as Robert, perhaps even more so as he underestimated his opponent.

The Frenchman knew what they were here for, so he reached out to take the gleaming piece from the ark. It was just a small ball-shaped object, it looked like metal, but there was something strange about it. As if it exuded a kind of...aura.

“This is not yours to take, Assassin. I am merely taking what is rightfully mine.”

He cradled the little metal ball in one hand and reached for his sword with the other, seeing Altaïr’s body tense and shift,the arrogant Assassin preparing to make an easy, swift kill. Letting go of his sword, Robert caught the deadly left arm of his enemy, holding him off as if he were a helpless child.

“I will let you live so you can-”

Robert’s lips froze, seemingly forgetting what exactly he was going to say as the orb in his hand began to glow, brightly, as if it were a little sun in itself. And just like the sun, it was becoming unbearably hot to touch. Robert felt the flesh in his palm itch and bite in protest at the heat and then everything was white.

Like a miniature solar flare, the treasure exploded into stark white light, blinding everyone in the room, Templar and Assassin alike.

Altaïr couldn’t see, the light’s source was unbearable to look at, it practically burned his eyes.  
His body felt paralyzed, each of his limbs frozen stiff, he couldn’t even feel if Robert was still clutching at his arm. No sound penetrated the sudden silence, there was nothing but the incredibly bright light he couldn’t bear to look at.  
Then, suddenly, a faint noise pierced the deafening silence. Distant at first, it grew louder and into something more coherent, a voice. Altaïr could not make out any words or where exactly it was coming from,not even the language it was using. Sounded a lot like cursing though.

Then, he felt himself being knocked off of his feet, he didn’t know by what, but his vision returned briefly enough to show him a flurry of white, red and brown before his body impacted against the stone wall of the old ruin and he regained control over his senses as pain flooded through him.

He was on the floor, a good five meters away from where he had been held by Robert and there was something on top of him. A heavy heap of clothing, metal, leather.

The light had faded as explosively as it had appeared, drawn back into the treasure, leaving both Templars and Assassins completely fazed.

Malik recovered enough sense to leap forward and try to reach the mysterious orb, despite the strange spectacle that had just taken place, it was clear this mystical object held much power. Power they couldn’t let de Sable have at any cost.

But his hand was not the only one reaching for the orb. The Assassin had just a few short seconds to turn himself as the blade shot forward, hungry for his blood but missing his throat. Malik’s body was coursing with adrenaline, his senses were razor-sharp, focused on the threat. Robert de Sable was experienced and unlike his cocky superior, Malik would not underestimate him. Especially not when he held that look of rage in his eyes.

The other Templars had been far slower to recover from the shock of the strange appearance. They eyed Altaïr and the bundle on top of him apprehensively, wondering what sort of creature had appeared from the light.

The clash of metal meeting metal woke them from their stupor though. Seeing Robert engaged in battle made them draw their weapons, ready for orders and to fight for their master.

Robert dodged another swipe of Malik’s dagger and moved two steps to the right, avoiding being anywhere near the reach of the hidden blade he knew Assassins carried on their left. He swept his arm out towards the fallen Altaïr and the stunned Kadar,

“Kill them! Kill the Assassins!”

Altaïr groaned, finally the stars had faded from his vision. The weight was still on top of him, so he lifted his arms to shift it, only to freeze when he felt warmth, that of something alive...or better said, someone.  
The master Assassin blinked his eyes to try and clear his gaze, how could a person just appear from some mysterious burst of light? Judging by the bulk that appeared to be a torso, this was a man. Altaïr pushed at the body, making the stranger produce a pained groan himself.

Had he been in the room? Or had he been one of the Templars? No, he had definitely appeared from that light...  
Finally, Altaïr was clear of the stranger and he could sit up, struggling to his feet only to find his vision turn bleary. He must have hit that wall pretty hard. Blackness crept in front of his eyes as he leaned against the cold stone, trying to clear his head. There were enemies right here with them and he could ill afford to lay around being useless.  
The throbbing pain in his head dulled enough for him to be able to hear again. The clash of metal on metal wrenched his attention away from the stranger he had just pushed off of him.  
He would have to wait. They had to take care of the Templars, especially de Sable.  
If only his body would obey his mind...

“Kill the Assassins!”

Kadar had barely heard it, had barely understood the harsh shout from Malik to move, to rouse his frozen limbs and fight. It was pure muscle memory that saved him from losing his head as he leaped to the side, falling down, rolling over his shoulder and springing back up whilst the Templar’s heavy broadsword met the surface of the floor where the Assassin had been seconds before.  
But Kadar didn’t have the chance to revel in his own trained reactions as the other two guards had focused on him, leaving their master to deal with Malik.

The young Assassin’s heart was beating in his throat. He was trained for this. He was trained to face Templars and to kill them, but that didn’t mean he had much experience actually doing so. This wasn’t a stealth mission where the target was unknowing, only feeling the short pain of the blade entering their neck and then the sweet embrace of death.

These knights were very aware of his presence, his skill and his techniques. They were battle-hardened, much more so than Kadar. He didn’t fear them, but he feared for what would happen if he could not hold them off. Altaïr, their master in skill and rank, was useless, flattened to the wall by whatever had barrelled out of that blinding light. Malik had his hands full with Robert. Someone had to take out these three guards and then the two that stood hesitantly in front of Altaïr, who had only just regained his footing, clearly still groggy from the impact on the wall.

Drawing his sword, Kadar faced the foreign men, blue eyes hardened into an expression of deadly determination.

Malik didn’t know how long he could keep dodging Robert’s harsh blows. Parrying them had been a bad idea and the Assassin was reminded of that only too clearly as his left arm screamed in agony at him. He had been too careless, thinking he could block the harsh strike with his own blade. Robert’s vicious, blood-hungry sword glanced off of the short-sword. Instead, it buried itself into the yielding flesh of Malik’s arm, rendering his left arm and with it his hidden blade useless. Another advantage Robert had over him.  
The Assassin had been forced to switch hands, trying to favour his left arm as he blocked and struck with his short-sword. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he was not left completely defenseless as Robert had aimed to make him.

And still, he had the treasure. Tucked into his robes, hidden and slightly warm against his skin, Malik would not hand it over. Robert would have to pry it from his corpse if he wanted it so badly.

Robert did. The Assassin in front of him was good, he would have to admit that, but he was fighting a losing battle. As soon as his guards had disposed of the other two, this man would be so completely outnumbered he would have to give up.

A pained cry made Altaïr look up from the Templars in front of him. Past their chain-mail clad shoulders, he could see Kadar, hopelessly outmatched by three guards. Two of them had managed to capture the young Assassin, holding his arms whilst the third stood in front of him, raising his sword.  
Malik saw it too, his eyes widened as time seemed to freeze around the scene of his brother’s imminent death. In just a few seconds, he would lose his precious Kadar, his everything, the only family he had-!

A thunderclap deafened the entire room, paralyzing both parties into stunned silence.  
Except for the guard who had been about to ram his sword into Kadar’s chest.  
Slowly, with wide eyes, he crumpled to the side, blood pooling around his head, mixing with the light brown dirt of the ground.

Altaïr looked into the shocked eyes of the Templars in front of him. Someone was standing behind him. Someone clad in white, red and leather.

The stranger who had come from the light stood, his arm outstretched with his other hand on some mechanism attached to his left. The muzzle of whatever metallic monster the stranger had strapped to his arm was smoking lightly, it must have been the source of the thunderous noise that still rang in all of their ears.

Kadar was dropped into the dirt next to the dead man, whose blood was still oozing from the small wound on his head.

The guards were more than spooked as they backed up, towards the entrance they had used to get here. No matter what Robert would try to say, they would simply not stay in the presence of this...this demon!  
But Robert himself was shaken enough to realize the danger he was now in and how the tables had turned. The stranger seemed decidedly against Templars, for he had aimed carefully and not injured the Assassin. No, he had saved him.  
His appearance was an obscure version of the other hooded men in the room and left no doubt in the Frenchman’s mind that he was an ally to the Assassins, whoever he was.

Retreat.  
He had to retreat. Once he escaped this ruin, he would be able to assess the situation and how to get the treasure back from the Assassins. But this right now, right here...  
He would not take chances with this demonic stranger.

“Fall back! Retreat!”

It was an order his men did not hesitate to follow as they scrambled for the exit, pushing each other out of the way, forgetting all vows and oaths taken to protect their master.

Malik fell to his knees, the pain in his arm unbearable, as his opponent followed his men.

“This will not be the last time we meet, Assassins!”

From the safety beyond the exit, Robert swung his sword at the rotten wooden support beam that held the decaying bricks and rock at bay. With an almighty crash, the entrance sealed itself behind the Templars, leaving no clear path for the Assassins to pursue them.

Not that Kadar, Malik and Altaïr were in any position to think of pursuing their fleeing enemies right then.

The stranger still stood, though his arm had sunken to his side and he gave an unsteady sigh of relief. He was clearly not...well. His stance, so confident and threatening moments before, slumped, not relaxed, but unable to keep up its charade of strength.

Altaïr was on the stranger in a heartbeat, twisting his colourful robes in his right hand, the deadly blade on his left at the man’s throat. Altaïr’s gaze burned into confused hazel eyes half-hidden by the hood.

“Who are you?! What are you?! Speak, or you will not get another chance to!” His voice shook slightly despite the fact he was trying to sound sincerely threatening. But he had seen where this man had come from, had seen him slay a Templar without touching him...

The stranger lifted his hands, but the pressure of the blade at his throat increased fractionally, warning him to keep very still and try to explain himself. Well, it was pretty impossible to do exactly that. He had no idea how he had gotten here, wherever here was. He only remembered that artifact, the blinding light, the pain as he had been thrown against someone. To be precise, against the man who held the blade to his throat.

Slowly, Ezio let his eyes travel over the man in front of him. He was clad in a strange version of his own clothing, almost a plain mockery of the Assassin robes he had...inherited. The hidden blade on his left arm left no doubt in the Italian’s mind as to what this man was. Assassin. Just like the other two in the room were, just as the Templar had declared them to be. But where on earth was he to meet other Assassins!?  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he questioned as to what language these men were speaking, but there was no doubt that they were demanding to know who he was.

“My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I-I am an Assassin.”

Altaïr’s eyes narrowed. The voice sounded almost familiar and yet so foreign as that tongue wrapped itself around words clearly not in its own language. The accent was...foreign, yes, but not like the Templars he had met. He thought back hard to all of his studies and placed it. Italian. Yes. He had heard a merchant speak like this, a long time ago.  
The question he decided not to bother with was how he was able to understand him at all.

Not that Ezio knew either and right now, he had no time to consider the fact he was speaking Arabic and able to understand it too. The blade at his throat was already starting to bite into his skin as if it was greedy for his blood.

“Altaïr! Do not harm him, can’t you see he must be an ally?”  
The remark came from Malik, who was now being supported by his wide-eyed sibling.  
Both of the Al-Sayf brothers were injured, though Malik seemed to be losing the most blood. Even though he must have been in a lot of pain, there was strength in his eyes and not just a subtle hint of gratitude.

“You have my thanks for saving Kadar, brother.”  
Altaïr let his blade slide back into its cradle and he relinquished his tight grip. Malik was right in at least one aspect, if this man was not their ally, he would have used that contraption on his arm to kill them already.

Still, that was no reason to trust him. Altaïr turned to his injured subordinates, then to the blocked exit. They would have to climb back up the route they came and return to Maysaf, there was no question about that.

“We will see what the master makes of you, Ezio Auditore da Firenze,” the foreign name felt weird rolling from his tongue, but Altaïr didn’t let it faze him and continued to speak with the authority befitting his rank, “come now. And we shall see if you are truly our brother.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

In Time to Erase, 2.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the gaze of that beady eye on him. Ezio shuffled his feet, casting his eyes about, refusing to let them settle on Al Mualim. The old man had listened to him explain himself and his strange appearance, not questioning anything until Ezio had mentioned he had no idea how he got here from his own time.

Gods, he felt stupid thinking of it that way. But it really was the only available explanation. The object Malik had handed to the master of the order had to be the source of this weird turn of events.

Al Mualim had awaited them in the library, he had looked just as shocked as everyone else at Ezio’s appearance, but he had not shown any senseless fear such as the Templars who had fled the presence of the Italian. The master had asked calmly for his name and his origin, not so much as lifting a bushy eyebrow to hear of when Ezio had come from.

Not that the young Assassin knew what he was to make of the fact he had travelled hundreds of years into the past, to a different part of the world, right into the hands of Assassins he only knew from a few pages of the Codex he had managed to find.

The Codex that in his time, Altaïr had written.

The journey to Masyaf had taken five whole days, five days in which Ezio had to control himself not to think he had gone insane. He was in the company of ancient Syrian Assassins, of Altaïr himself. The Italian had hidden his awe at this circumstance pretty well, in fact, he had not even mentioned that he knew who Altaïr was, or rather, the person he would become in the future.  
A future that couldn’t possibly remain the same.  
Ezio had stopped thinking about it when his mind had spiraled into circles about how his presence here would alter the very course of history. Already, the one action he had taken here had changed something. He had saved a man’s life, a man he knew had died in that very place in his own time...

This was something a man like Leonardo would delight in thinking about, but not Ezio. Especially not when he was living in it.  
This place was strange and very different from his home, he had never truly known a brotherhood of Assassins, there had only been his uncle...well and his father, but Ezio hadn’t known about him being an Assassin whilst Giovanni was alive.

But the Assassins here had a full order and a master who’s commands they obeyed. They were controlled, emotionally detached and compared to him, as unfeeling as ice.

Ezio had never been raised the way they had, with the creed heavy on their shoulders. He had known a very different, carefree and wild life before fate thrust being an Assassin upon him.

Kadar had been the most open with him on the long journey from Jerusalem. The young man seemed utterly fascinated with Ezio, his weapons, his time, his home and his story. Though he hadn’t been invasive, there had been this look in his eyes, hungry for every shred of information, a thirst for knowledge. He reminded Ezio of Leonardo, the way he seemed eager for every word from the Italian’s lips.

He had not told his new companions that he knew of the fate of their brotherhood. Well to be honest, he didn’t know that much, a lot had been lost over time and all he had to go by were those few pages Altaïr had written. He cursed himself for not finding all of them, for having no more knowledge about the ‘apple’ than the Syrian Assassins did right now.

Kadar’s brother Malik had been friendly enough, but he was in a lot of pain since his injured arm had become infected. Still, Malik was a very strong man. He had taken care of the wound as best he could and insisted they make haste to Masyaf, giving a strange look to Altaïr when he mentioned their master, Al Mualim.

Altaïr...

From what Ezio had gathered about him, this man was a legend, great, wise and burdened with many responsibilities. But he guessed that must have happened at a later point in the man’s life.  
Because this Altaïr was arrogant and cold. Well, all of them seemed cold, but Ezio had associated that with the difference in their cultures. Even so, Altaïr was a step beyond Malik and Kadar.  
He had not spoken with Ezio since he had held his hidden blade to his throat. It was pretty clear that he was playing this whole strange event off lightly, as if it had not affected him at all. He was aloof and he commanded them around with the definite authority of a superior.  
The youngest of the three ‘brothers’ had explained that Altaïr was a master Assassin and therefore they had to follow him, follow and obey.  
Not without question or rebuke though, as Malik had demonstrated several times already.

There was some unresolved aggression between Altaïr and Malik that even Ezio picked up on after spending just a few days in their company. Malik wasn’t fond of the way the master Assassin handled them, that much was obvious.

But it was far from Ezio to worry about the relations and personal troubles between others, especially concerning people known to him as ancient Assassins. He had hoped, silently, that the master of the order had encountered this Apple before, that he would somehow know a way to send Ezio home. It wasn’t likely, but ever since meeting Leonardo, Ezio had placed more faith into people understanding the impossible.

It had not been justified this time though.  
Al Mualim had sent all of Ezio’s hope packing the moment he had put the Apple away, storing it carefully like it was his treasure then turned to the young Italian to speak.

“Your story is indeed strange, Ezio. I would say you are mad with fever or some plague, but since Malik, Kadar and Altaïr have verified what you have said to be true, I cannot think of a reason not to believe you. It seems whatever force brought you here has meant for you to join us. Even if you come from a distant land and time, this order will welcome you as a brother.”

Ezio slumped visibly, disappointed. His last hope had been far-fetched, he admitted to that, but it had been there at least. Now, he was alone and stuck here, a stranger not just in this land, but in this time.

Frustrated, he lifted his hands and moved the hood from his head to try and reduce the headache building due to the stagnant air.  
He didn’t like the dry heat of this place, the lack of greenery, the crude style of the buildings he had seen in the village of Masyaf...

“So you are saying I am to stay here. There is nothing you can tell me about the Apple that could have brought me here or could send me back home?”

“Nothing at all.”

Al Mualim watched as the youngster in front of him ran a hand through his dusty hair, a look of utter defeat crossing his handsome features. He held a certain stunning resemblance to Altaïr, this Ezio Auditore. The master of the order observed him closely, turning the boy’s story over in his mind. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Sure, he had received the Apple, Robert still lived, the Assassins suspected nothing.

But this Italian problem had not been part of the plan. If he truly came from a future they had all shaped, he could...know things. What had become of the order? Of the Templars and the Assassins? He could even know about his allegiance, of his goals and if he had succeeded in them.  
Al Mualim certainly had a lot of questions for him.

But if he asked them now, if he interrogated the boy right now and right here, there would be suspicions. To the Assassin’s knowledge, a brother had found his way to them. It was their duty to accept him and to treat him no different than any of their own. Even if he was from the future.  
Or all four Assassins had gone stark raving mad.

Al Mualim had a letter to write. This was certainly a development that threw a very large rock into their path. There had to be a way to deliver this boy to his Templar associates for interrogation without losing the unwavering faith of his Assassins.  
If he declared Ezio to be a lunatic now and for him to be thrown out of their midst, there would be doubt.  
Unfortunately, the Italian had already proved he was indeed an Assassin and not just to one pair of eyes, but three. Malik wasn’t a declared master assassin yet, but he was always a voice of reason. No one would think Malik could be mad. Not to speak of Altaïr, to whom Al Mualim owed his very own life.

Though his pupil seemed even less enthusiastic about the stranger than he himself.

The old Assassin clasped his hands behind his back, letting his eyes travel over the rest of Ezio who still stood in front of him, though now he didn’t seem as agitated and hopeful as he had been moments before.

The style of the clothing was reminiscent of the foreign traders he had seen on numerous occasions, though there was no mistaking the resemblance to the robes his own Assassins wore. The white hood, the red embroidery and the belt, an expensive mockery of the simple sashes the brothers dressed themselves in.  
A leather cape covered one shoulder and Al Mualim found himself musing its purpose until his eyes wandered along Ezio’s arms. He recognized the hidden blade, even if its mechanism seemed to differ from their design. But what struck Al Mualim as odd was that it adorned Ezio’s right arm. It was traditionally carried on the left...

“You possess two hidden blades, Ezio?”

The Italian’s expression changed for a fleeting moment from resigned to boyish excitement before he schooled it into a mask of something akin to reserved pride.

Calmly, he presented both of his blades, arms turned so the master could survey Ezio’s advanced weaponry without any of it pointing at him. Threatening Al Mualim would be a very bad decision indeed, judging by how plentiful the order’s numbers were.

The old man narrowed his one good eye as he took in the distinctly different structure of Ezio’s blades. The blades looked just as solid as any he had seen before, even capable of blocking a strike from a heavy broadsword, but there was far more metal, more structure...

A thin metal pipe of some sort was attached to the left gauntlet and it seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. Nobody had told Al Mualim about the ‘thunderclap’ and the wondrous weapon Ezio possessed. The blades themselves were fed with small containers of dark liquid, probably poison.  
The Italian’s belt was also adorned with numerous pouches and Al Mualim could only guess that there were more outlandish weapons hidden in there.

What else could this boy have apart from knowledge of his past, their future? His weaponry was hundreds of years advanced, if they could find out what it did and reproduce it, the Assassins would have a major advantage over their foes.

That was assuming Ezio even knew how his own equipment functioned.

The elderly master moved away from the young man again, now settling his eyes on the other two Assassins present in the room.

Kadar seemed nervous in the presence of the order’s master, but he was here to listen on behalf of his brother, who was still with the Assassin’s own doctor, getting his arm looked at.

It had looked pretty grim when they had parted shortly beforehand, after Malik had given his report of the incidents beneath the temple ruins. Then he had leaned heavily on Kadar, his face an ashen colour that didn’t bode well at all. Malik had assured his little brother everything would be alright though as he had walked to the door to be helped to the doctor. And Malik didn’t break promises.

So, Kadar was an unlikely source of unrest and suspicion. The young was still shaken up from the events of the ruin and he was clearly worried sick for his injured brother. No, Kadar would not direct his thoughts into such depths. Kadar would never apply his bright young mind to any scheme that might involve the Apple and the Templars they had encountered on their mission.

Al Mualim’s attention turned to his favourite pupil.  
Altaïr was an entirely different story though. Arrogant and proud, he possessed one of the sharpest minds the elderly master had ever encountered. And Altaïr never placed absolute faith into anything. If anyone were to start suspecting Al Mualim if he, for example, began interrogating Ezio for anything more than his advanced weaponry, it would be his talented disciple.  
He had to distract Altaïr from thinking of what had happened in Solomon’s temple. He had to fill the young man’s proud mind with something so there was no room left to speculate.

Altaïr stood like some kind of sulking sentinel, to the side, as if he was no more involved than any of the Assassins training outside. Still, he knew the master would have paid heed to Malik’s hoarsely voiced report.  
Al Mualim had heard of his arrogant mistakes.  
It was to be expected of Altaïr’s ‘subordinate’. Malik didn’t like him and this was an opportune moment to make him pay for his behaviour.

Not that it was completely unjustified. Altaïr had in fact, broken all of the tenants they had been taught since childhood. If Ezio had not shown up, they probably would have lost the Apple alongside their lives. Not that Altaïr would even so much as indicate any kind of thanks towards the Italian.

“Altaïr. What have you to say? Apart from our...surprise here, you acted like a defiant child. Have you forgotten everything you have been taught?!”

“I did not-”

“And you are still such an arrogant fool. You could have compromised the entire brotherhood, are you even aware of that?”

Al Mualim’s one, seeing eye stared Altaïr’s half-hidden face, trying to read the younger man’s mind. There was no shred of remorse or guilt in his gaze, Altaïr still believed himself to have performed well, to have executed the mission just as he had been ordered to.

“You still believe you have succeeded. How arrogant. Make humble your heart, child, or I will tear it from your chest!”

Ezio had not moved any closer, but he felt his body tense up, there was definitely something off about this master and it was making the little hairs on the nape of his neck stand on edge.  
Al Mualim was threatening Altaïr, but not in a manner that he understood, because the Assassin, a couple of years his senior, took it without true complaint.  
Ezio switched his vision hesitantly, using the gift he had been born with and had dubbed ‘eagle vision’. He held his breath a little as he watched Al Mualim flicker from red to blue and back again, whilst Altaïr remained blue, almost white. The master Assassin’s ‘aura’ did not waver, even as the resounding slap to his face echoed around the library.

Altaïr only seemed stunned by the next words the master spoke to him, quietly, too quietly for Ezio to understand, before his bony hands reached forward and took the majority of his pupil’s weapons away. Again, Altaïr did nothing to resist this from happening, entirely obedient to the old man.  
Ezio found himself staring with disbelief, unable to understand the meaning behind Al Mualim’s actions.

Kadar on the other hand knew what this meant. Altaïr had just been stripped of his master Assassin rank and the weapons he had earned along with the title.  
The younger Al-Sayf brother widened his eyes, disappearing instantly as soon as Al Mualim had nodded slightly in his direction to dismiss him.

Ezio hadn’t understood the silent hint to leave, because he remained exactly where he had been standing the entire time, only four or five steps away from the Assassin he had admired since hearing his legend.  
What had he just witnessed? What had Altaïr done wrong?  
*  
As if the humiliation of having been stripped of his rank hadn’t been enough, Al Mualim had saddled him with another burden.  
Altaïr strode into the room atop the tower he called his own, though it no longer offered him the comfort he sought from having some privacy.  
Probably because he would no longer be alone in his refuge.

Al Mualim had taken his rank, his weapons and had given him Ezio instead. Well, not literally, of course. But the elderly master had tasked Altaïr to act as Ezio’s mentor; since the Italian was clearly going to need some instructing if he was going to be as effective as any of the Syrian Assassins.

And so, here was Altaïr, annoyed, frustrated and humiliated, with the strange new brother stood behind him, looking less than jovial to be here. Well, maybe he had sensed the mood the other Assassin was in and respected it.  
What Altaïr had seen and heard from the young man, this was a rare treat. Ezio was too...free for his taste. He didn’t act like a novice ought to; he lacked the respect towards Assassins who were clearly his superiors. He didn’t bow his head when Al Mualim had spoken with him. He spoke freely and without restraint. Had this man no discipline?

There was something turbulent about Ezio. A kind of irrational way of carrying his emotions openly on his sleeve. Ezio hadn’t spoken excessively in the past five days they had spent in each other’s company, but enough for Altaïr to miss the silence of going on solitary missions.

“...You are to live here. You can have that corner over there,” Altaïr indicated the opposite side of the room with a tilt of his chin.

Ezio followed the little notion and he felt his already deadened insides slump with a resigned sigh. The corner held little more than a sort of...mattress, though it didn’t look like any bedding he had ever seen before. Not that he was planning to spend a lot of time here in this room but he would have preferred accommodation that didn’t make him feel like Altaïr’s pet dog.

Still, who was he to complain? Since Ezio had nothing but the clothes on his back, it wasn’t as if he could be ungrateful for what the Assassin order provided him with.

Whilst the Italian had contemplated his own little corner, Altaïr had gathered white robes and approached the young man.

“Wear these. You really should get out of those...unique garments of yours. You are...our brother now. You must not look any different to us.”

Whilst Ezio changed with a grumble, Altaïr had escaped onto the roof of the tower, satisfied that the uninvited guest was fully busied and would not bother him. Not that he had tried to, but Altaïr liked to avoid interaction with Ezio when possible.

With the dry, cool wind of the night caressing his body and soothing his senses, Altaïr allowed his mind to clear. He tensed every muscle of his body, almost as if he was testing the full extent of control he had over himself, then relaxed again.  
He had had too little control over anything these last days and he was weary for it.  
The shock of what Al Mualim had done to him was still numbing his mind, but now, he allowed himself to think freely about it.  
He had lost what he had trained and worked hard for. Did he really deserve to be punished? The mission had been a success, all of his brothers had returned safely...well, alive.  
And they had retrieved the artifact, whatever it was. They had even brought a bonus in form of Ezio, though Altaïr wasn’t quite sure if the Italian was to be a blessing or a curse.

But, not everything was bleak. He had a chance. Al Mualim had been quite vague as he had explained it only briefly, but it had been enough for Altaïr to grasp at. Enough for him to regain a sliver of hope, a goal.

He would earn his rank back; he could clear his name in the eyes of the order. Nine lives would be all it would take for Altaïr to be absolved of his shameful mistakes.  
Nine lives and the tutelage of Ezio.

*

“Do you understand the importance of this, Abbas?”

“Yes, master.”

“I want to know what you see, what you hear, what you would think. You are to be my eyes and ears. I wish to know when he rests, when he travels, when he kills. He must not move without my knowledge.”

“Yes master, it shall be done.”

“Safety and success upon you, Abbas.”

Al Mualim watched as the figure disappeared into the night, unnoticed even by the two Assassins guarding the gate. Of course, they weren’t looking for one of their own.

The elderly master of the order rubbed over his papery, graying palm. He had even stained himself with ink in his haste to write that letter...the one Abbas had pressed safely to his chest, sworn to deliver in secrecy or he would die and destroy the letter in the attempt.

They had to know. They had to be ready for this mysterious future boy, the one who could ruin their scheme before it could be set into motion, the Assassin who had travelled through the Apple, the one who could bring them all death and ruin. They had to know about Ezio Auditore da Firenze.


	3. Chapter 3

In Time to Erase, chapter 3

Ezio, Altaïr had decided, reminded him of a chattering little bird that fluffed up its crest and ruffled its feathers, hopping around where it was tethered.

The boy didn’t exactly babble, he just seemed to have dire need to voice his thoughts at any moment he deemed appropriate. Most of the time, they weren’t.

It wasn’t appropriate when Al Mualim was speaking or when Altaïr was trying to explain something to him that required no rebuke from a student.

They were on their way to Damascus, the only information they had received being the name of Altaïr’s target, Tamir.

He hadn’t voiced any complaint as Al Mualim had told him that he had to search for his own target, that no lesser Assassin would do this work for him.  
He hadn’t even frowned as Al Mualim said he had to relearn the basics, nor had he said anything as he’d been made to feel like a novice with his first task ahead of him.

But he simply didn’t understand why he had to bring Ezio along.  
Yes, the boy had been made his responsibility, as if the young man was an unruly child.  
And truthfully, Altaïr wasn’t sure what unsettled him so about having the Italian at his side.

Maybe it had been the way Ezio kept marvelling at Altaïr when he thought no one was watching, or the hidden reverence etched into his gaze whenever they spoke.  
The way the Italian watched Altaïr move, speak, breathe. As if he was waiting for something, expecting Altaïr to do something that would reveal whatever it was Ezio knew, to him.  
And how the young man seemed so sure that no one would notice his behaviour around the elder Assassin.

Altaïr had noticed. It reminded him of Kadar, but it wasn’t pure admiration for his skills. There was something more, as if Ezio knew of some hidden greatness within Altaïr and was committed to not telling a soul.

Well, no matter what his reasons, Altaïr cared little for the admiration, since it didn’t help Ezio conduct himself in a more respectful manner towards him. What he did care for was how difficult the Italian was going to be and how he influenced the course of this mission.

Though he had claimed to be an Assassin and could move like one, Ezio lacked the teachings all of Altaïr’s brothers placed above their own desires.  
No one had told Ezio how much of an illusion reality was, how to easily manipulate it. Nor the importance of assessing everything logically, not to follow blindly and never to believe that truth was one-dimensional and out of question.

There had been training, of course. Someone had taught the young Assassin basics.

Ezio could blend into a crowd of people and make them believe he was just part of them. He could climb using all his limbs and his young body was nimble as it was swift. But his lack of internal peace was compelling Ezio to be rash, unpredictable as he was guided by emotion.

Altaïr had yet to see his so-called pupil perform a proper assassination, so he reserved judgement of his true skill until he could be sure. Though his instinct told him that his initial impression was perfectly accurate.

At least he wasn’t talking right now. Ezio was there, astride the mount he had been given, hood drawn over most of his face and silent as he followed Altaïr. Not behind him, as his lack of rank should command him to do, but at an impudent, mere step behind. The nose of Ezio’s horse was level with Altaïr’s leg, something that irritated the elder, but he chose not to mention it.  
He had better things to think about than Ezio’s impertinence.

Altaïr’s mind settled back on Al Mualim’s words. The nine lives he had to claim, there had to be something special about them. A reason for their deaths, though he would undoubtedly execute each of them. Were they bad men who had done those they commanded disservice? How had Al Mualim chosen them?  
An uncomfortable little twinge in his stomach reminded Altaïr not to question too deeply. He was an Assassin and his reason and logic were imperative to his view of the world. He could always muse on those nine lives once he had taken them.

And just like a moth to a flame, his mind circled away from those thoughts right back to the man beside him. This...future boy. Ezio couldn’t be older than Kadar, in fact, he was most likely even younger than him. He looked different in the Syrian Assassin robes, but by no means plain. He wore them as if they were a part of his being. Altaïr had seen men consumed by these robes, their personal quarries, problems, feuds and emotions fading away into nothingness as they bowed to the creed, the tenants of the Assassins.

But not Ezio. Being an Assassin didn’t shape this man. He shaped being an Assassin with an impertinent air. He had pride and he was bold. He lived as if he was free of all commandments.

Had Assassins changed so much in the future? Did they no longer honour their creed? Had they shaped the world around them as they pleased? What had happened to Masyaf? What else did Ezio know?

An icy shudder ran down Altaïr’s back. A thought he had not considered until now crossed his mind. Did Ezio know what was in their future? Did his history include him, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad, or had he faded from memory after his death?  
It was a little overwhelming to quell the need to ask. Even if Ezio knew, he had said his time was hundreds of years away. How much could books have held about a single Assassin? Probably nothing. Maybe Altaïr had been a footnote. Maybe he was nothing in the face of time, in the pages of history.

Ezio listened to the stillness around him. He missed the cities, the noises of humans, the laughter of girls. This place was bleak, with its silent, cold nights. Alien insects barely breached the lonely silence around them, but provided little living comfort. Ezio nudged his horse forward, bringing him a step closer to Altaïr, though the elder Assassin wasn’t exactly talkative. In some aspects, the Assassins of this time didn’t seem human to him. They were like rocks, solid, present, but so silent and impassive.  
It was mind-boggling for Ezio to grasp the culture of these people, these ancestors of his. But the young Italian was adaptable, flexible. He had adjusted to complete changes of his environment before.  
And even in all their foreign coldness, the stiffness of their behaviour, Ezio felt as if there was an unshakable bond between these so-called brothers.  
And now they had taken him into their midst. He wondered if their work differed, if their methods and training were vastly superior to his own. He hadn’t grown up under the care of an order and somehow, he was intensely aware of this fact.

Ezio urged his tired horse forward a little more so he was level with Altaïr. The elder wore his hood the entire time, it didn’t look as if it was designed to slide back and reveal his face. The young Italian had followed suit until now, as he lifted one hand away from the reins to pull back on the coarse material. Which didn’t even so much as budge. Annoyed, Ezio gnashed his teeth and swore beneath his breath.

Altaïr spared him a look of dismay, his golden eyes full of disapproval. Ezio wasn’t sure if it was for his actions or for his presence, but he decided to smile in the face of such adversity. Altaïr had no reason to dislike him right? Besides, they were brothers now, so it wouldn’t hurt to open up a little, maybe the legendary master Assassin could help him understand this time better.

“Is it really necessary to wear this all the time? I do not see why I could not have worn my own clothes. These are,” Ezio looked down at his chest, the material of Altaïr’s spare robes was quite taut across his chest, he was definitely of a broader build than his mentor, “not very fitting.”

Altaïr wanted to roll his eyes, was there nothing the Italian didn’t want to argue about? He remembered only too clearly what had happened the night before, when he had descended from the roof of the tower. He had found Ezio asleep, but not in his corner where he should be, but sprawled out on Altaïr’s own bed, spread-eagled between his pillows.  
Of course he had thrown him out of his bed, but following the argument with the tired Italian, he had conceded half of his pillows to the younger man, only to get Ezio to be quiet so he could find some rest himself.

This morning, he had awoken to Ezio standing over his sleeping form, half-dressed, half-naked, demanding to know where a ‘bath’ was to be had. Altaïr had blinked at him, not understanding the request and too tired to be angry about the fact he had not awoken when the other had come so close. It was probably because Ezio was ‘blue’ to him also.  
After breakfast, Ezio had disappeared. It had taken Altaïr the better part of the morning to find the young man, emerged in the water that lay beyond the cliff the Assassin’s castle. He had been bathing, right in the view of a couple of young women from the village who seemed reasonably flushed, the laundry they had been washing drifting away unnoticed in the cold water.

Ezio certainly seemed to like acting like a juvenile. At least, Altaïr got that impression as he had dragged the wet, scarcely clad young man back into the castle.

And just like the child he was, Ezio was here beside him, pulling at his robes, complaining that he couldn’t remove them and addressing him with such a lack of respect for authority, Altaïr felt his ever-present level headed core of peace crumble.  
He was annoyed.  
At Ezio and himself. Why had he made those foolish errors?! If only he had been a little more humble, had listened to Malik even, he wouldn’t be saddled with Ezio right now. He weighed up the situations. Would he rather be stuck with Malik who liked to doubt his every word and contradict him wherever possible, or would he prefer Ezio, who never seemed to shut up and complained about the lack of luxuries they had offered to him...

After a moment of wrestling with his own mind, Altaïr decided he would rather be alone, but, in the worst case, he would prefer Ezio. At least the boy wasn’t ad-versed to learning and he did look at him with hidden admiration. Maybe it was time for Altaïr to find out just what Ezio knew.

“We do not remove these robes outside of Masyaf, Ezio. We must be anonymous to everyone else. Has no one taught you any of this?”

That had been enough for the young man to fall silent, watching him wearily as he stopped picking at his clothing.

“I...have been taught, but not the way you would expect, maestro.”

Altaïr felt a twinge, that word in Italian, he had understood. Master. Well, it was fitting, had he not been stripped of his rank days before.

“Do not call me master. Altaïr will do as I shall address you as Ezio, brother.”

“Altaïr...I have a question.”

“I suppose your mind will not be at rest until you have your answer and since I would appreciate a little peace and quiet, go ahead, ask.”

Ezio seemed halfway to smiling, then he bit his lip and directed his gaze to the master Assassin beside him, who seemed to wait for his question with some impatience.

“Have you met Maria yet?”

Altaïr felt his mind lurch into frantic thought, trying to remember if he had met any women by that name. But no, there were only the nameless few from various cities who he had meaningless trysts with, local women who would never carry such a foreign name.

Silently, he shook his head, but his gaze was full of interest now. What importance would a woman hold to his future? What was Ezio really asking him and why was he grinning like a little idiot?!

“I have not met anyone by that name. Does this give you a revelation you wish to share?”

Ezio shook his head, seemingly innocent of any further knowledge. Maybe Altaïr had guessed wrong and Maria had just been a name mentioned in passing, who knew what history books said about him.

He couldn’t possibly have known that Ezio was trying to piece together what was to happen next. All his patchy memories of the codex provided was that picture Altaïr had drawn of his...wife and the designs for the new weapons that enhanced Ezio’s own hidden blades.

So this really was like a blank slate. Altaïr had done nothing of utter importance for the future just yet.

*  
The two Assassins watched silently as the weapons merchant stabbed the elderly man in front of him. The victim screamed, raising as his arms as if to fend off the attacks, his blood already streaking down his body. But Tamir was not finished with him. He punctuated every word he spat with a stab and soon enough the man before him folded backwards, falling into the small fountain in the centre of the market square. His blood coloured the water crimson as the onlookers hurried into frenzied activity, avoiding Tamir’s gaze at all costs, afraid to end up like the poor old man in the water.

Ezio clenched his fists, brimming with anger. How could they just stand around and watch such cruelty? It was clear their target wasn’t any kind if virtuous. A cruel, wicked being that even smirked as the lesser creatures fled him in terror.

Tamir needed to die, soon, before he could claim the life of another. Why hadn’t Altaïr reacted at all? They could have saved the citizen, even with Tamir’s lingering ensemble of guards.

The ex-master Assassin held his hand out in front of Ezio’s chest, giving him a nod, a silent sign for him to remain here. He would take care of this. In the blink of an eye, Altaïr had melted into the agitated crowd. Ezio stood, a little dumbfounded, at the spot from which they had watched from.

He switched to his second sight and followed Altaïr’s path with his eyes. The guards had fanned out a little, they seemed reserved, not wanting to procure the wrath of their master on their own heads.

Tamir had stopped in front of a stall, inspecting the wares for sale and obviously finding them to his below par of his expectations. The merchant who was selling them looked terrified, apologizing, agreeing, anything to keep his life.  
And then, Altaïr struck. Ezio couldn’t hear the sound of his hidden blade extending, but he knew it well enough to imagine the little ‘shiiik’ before Tamir crumpled against Altaïr in a macabre embrace. His mouth moved and the Assassin leaned over his target to hear his last words.

And then, they were on him.  
Ezio saw flickers of crimson all turn towards him and he quickly switched back only to see guards surrounding HIM. He glanced into Altaïr’s direction, but the other Assassin was gone. The crowd, agitated again by another death, milled around behind the guards, unavailable for Ezio to use as cover.

Well. Merda.

The guards were shouting accusations at him which weren’t completely unjustified. The merchant had only seen the robes and even if he had seen a part of a face, Altaïr and Ezio looked alike enough to be mistaken for each other.

Speaking of Altaïr, the experienced Assassin had not forsaken his brother. But he was intensely curious to see what Ezio could do. This situation wasn’t too bad, if the Italian really was such a skilled Assassin as he had claimed, he would be able to handle six guards. If not, Altaïr would even out the numbers.

“Heretic! Lay down your weapons!”

Heretic? That was a new one. Ezio decided that Altaïr must have been testing him, because there wasn’t a trace of the man anywhere in the square. He was still watching though. Ezio felt his sharp eyes on his back as if they were pinpricks. He wanted to see what Ezio was capable of? Well, he would get a nice show indeed.

Slowly, Ezio raised his hand, as if he was surendering himself. The nearest guard lowered his weapon to step forward and grab the Assassin. And that had been his fatal mistake. Ezio lunged forward, gripping the man’s sword-hand and delivering a painful kick to his knee. The guard’s leg snapped into the wrong direction with a sickening crack and the man gave a muffled groan of pain. Ezio still had hold of his arm and now spun into him. It would have looked like a weird sort of dance had there not been the wet, quiet noise of Ezio’s second hidden blade finding its mark in the man’s neck. But the young Assassin was not finished. With the man closest to him in the throes of death, he gave his body a hefty push, sending him into the sword of one of his compatriots.

The crowd had begun panicking at the renewed bloodshed, now clearing out of the square of corpses, desperate not to join them on the floor.

That still left five guards around Ezio, all of whom now attacked. But their swords missed their mark, Ezio danced around the blades with a series of graceful steps, docking, dodging and then, retaliating. He struck like a snake, fast and accurately, embedding his blades numerous times in the stomach of another unfortunate guard, not even waiting until the body had fallen before he had gripped the man’s longsword and thrust it through the sternum of another.

Altaïr watched with a shiver running down his back. Ezio was good, damn good. Whoever had trained him had done a marvelous job of raising a killing machine. The Italian was fast, efficient and fluid, as if no weapon could touch him. Certainly not the clumsy strikes of these guards. Only one remained now two more had fallen to Ezio’s blades.

What a terrifying picture that last guard was seeing, Altaïr could only imagine too well. Famous for being raised as the perfect murderers, the Assassin stood there before him, face hidden by his cowls, the white linen of his clothing covered with a fine spray of blood, dying bodies and corpses at his feet, crimson dripping from his blade.

Altaïr wasn’t surprised to watch the man flee, but he did puzzle slightly as Ezio withdrew a throwing knife, which he quickly buried in the guard’s back. So he knew how to clean up too. That did surprise Altaïr, for someone so emotional was usually prone to mercy. Ezio had experienced enough betrayal to not trust in human nature anymore, apparently.

Well, it did not matter. The target was dead, Altaïr had his bloody feather and Ezio had performed splendidly.

*  
Al Mualim gazed at him with little compassion as Altaïr retold the events that took place at the market place, the death of Tamir.  
His beady old eye only lit up with interest once Altaïr began talking about Ezio and the way he had handled the guards.

“You sound...impressed, Altaïr. Is the boy to your liking after all?”

The ex-master cast his eyes away, schooling his lightly excited expression back into his emotionless mask.

“Of course not. He is little more than a talented novice and he needs a lot of training.”

“And whom would you bestow him upon as a pupil?” Al Mualim didn’t like this, but he had to goad the other into focusing on the Italian and not on what had happened with the Templars.

“I will teach him. He is my responsability, is he not?”

“Yes, he is. But it is unusual for you to want to act as a mentor. What has you so...excited, Altaïr?”

He didn’t answer at first, letting Al Mualim’s question tumble around his mind. Why was it he suddenly found himself wanting to see what Ezio could do? He thought back to the fight. The fluid movements, the grace with which the other had killed, the emotionless destruction of his enemies and yet the freedom to move amongst them without being touched, the endless talent in that youthful body...

“He is like me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long ;A;

Sweat was clinging to his skin, his hair, it was running into his eyes and mouth. A dry tongue moved out to lick across his salty, chapped lips.

Masyaf wasn’t a pleasant place to be, he decided. Ezio tried to sweep his damp hair away from his face, focusing on the other man circling around him. He wondered briefly how he could manage to keep on all of his clothing, including the cowl covering his nose and mouth. Then again, he was probably used to this horrendously dry heat.

Ezio had stripped down to the waist, keeping on his twin hidden blades, though he had been forbidden to use them in this fight. His hand gripped a dulled practice sword. But even with blunt weapons, he couldn’t afford to take this training lightly. The man who had agreed to practice with him was named Rauf and apparently he held responsibility for the novices that milled around now, watching with haw-keyes to see how the strange, new Italian brother did in basic combat.

Rauf was good with that sword, but Ezio had seen better. He had fought many men back home with far more impressive strength, though without the agility that the trained Assassins possessed.

And their endurance!  
Ezio could concede to the superiority of the other Assassins in dealing with the awful heat of this home of theirs. If he had been back in Italy right now, he would be running circles around his opponent. Actually, he had, at the beginning, when he was fresh and full of energy.

But he was starting to tire and if this had been a real fight, he would have been swift about dealing the final blow and then fleeing into anonymity.

Rauf was moving to attack again.  
Ezio saw him shift his weight, calculating his steps, tensing the muscles of his arms as both of his hands went to the handle of his sword. He was doing very well at emulating a trained Templar knight wielding his broadsword.  
Even if Altaïr had acted as if Rauf was beneath him, there was no mistaking this man’s skill. The Assassin order really had high standards amongst their brothers.

There!  
Rauf had made his decisive move, the sword in his hands moving closer to the ground, its wielder obviously intent on knocking Ezio’s weapon straight out of his grip. The Italian switched hands at the last moment, using Rauf’s own momentum to twist him over his shoulder, throwing the Syrian Assassin to the dusty ground behind him. Rauf landed flat on his back with a groan, eyes defiant and yet impressed.

“Enough, brother. You’ve proven yourself capable of wielding a blade.”

Ezio relaxed his stance and offered the other a hand to get back to his feet. He grinned slightly, but tried not show how much the training had worn him out.

Not when he was watching.

Altaïr was the one who had insisted on Ezio receiving the traditional training of Masyaf’s Assassins, even though it was quite clear that the Italian was no mere novice. But no one had been able to sway the ex-master’s mind on this, nor had anyone actually tried.

Ezio still slept in the same room as the man, but the foreign culture of his new brothers left him feeling alone and isolated. Not that it was something new to the young man, isolation had been his fate ever since that horrible day...No, he would not think of it now.

It only opened an all too familiar void in his chest to think of his dead family. A family that had not even been...born yet and wouldn’t be for two hundred years. The prospect daunted Ezio’s mind, his existence in this, this TIME inexplicable to him. He had never understood the apple terribly well. It hadn’t been in his possession for long either. His first touch had been his last as he woke up, two hundred years in the past, sprawled on top of a man whose writings were the very foundations of a creed his own family lived by.

A family he wouldn’t get to see again. He’d briefly considered if time travel was possible and if he could, somehow, through sheer will, alter his return. Just a couple of years. Even if it was just the night before his father and brothers were executed...

When he daydreamed, Ezio didn’t see beautiful Italia and women, not even Cristina. He dreamed of being able to turn back the clock, he dreamed of saving his father and brothers...He wished for it so much he could feel it like a little anxious knot in his stomach, a mad hope he couldn’t cure no matter how many times he told himself he would be stuck here for the rest of his life. Serving an Order alien to him and yet they were the only thing he could attach himself to.

“You have skill with a blade, brother.”

He knew that voice well by now, though it seldom spoke words of praise towards him, so Ezio really took it to heart that his ‘master’ had been watching and judging his progress. Despite his own...sporadic training, mostly thanks to Uncle Mario, he was lacking and he knew so. Ezio was proud, but not stupid.

“Grazie.”

Altaïr’s mouth didn’t open again, the compliment had been only a comment he let slip, nothing more and nothing less. He was still pretty damn sure he didn’t like his newest burden, but at least he could begin to see that Ezio would not need to be herded like a calf and he could protect himself.

Good. A fledgling eagle was better to have at his side than a proud rooster.

“We’re leaving at nightfall.”

“Where to?”

“Jerusalem.”

Ezio didn’t need to question any further, he knew their mission, the eradication of Templar agents would be continuing until they had all fallen to the Assassins’ blades. The Italian watched as Altaïr simply left him standing in the courtyard of Masyaf, expecting him to be fully prepared by the time he chose for their leaving.

At least he hadn’t looked at him with contempt this time.

*

There was something odd in the air above Jerusalem. Ezio kept glancing at Altaïr, who seemed...off-put. Why had there been a chuckle when he’d been told to go seek out the Assassin’s bureau in Jerusalem? What was funny about that?

Finally, the two white-clad shapes had spotted the symbol decorating the flat roof, just a few streets away. Of course they didn’t need to drop down to the street-level, they were masters of climbing, swiftly and silently as cats, deadly as any raptor from above.

Ezio found a crossbeam connecting to the building which must have contained the bureau. There seemed to be no ground-level entrances and the rectangular slab looked no different than any other house here. Ezio considered the buildings ugly. They lacked structure, storeys and the magnificent character of his time. He remembered, with a sharp ache in his chest, how beautiful Florence had looked from atop her high rooftops.

Oh what he would give to be home again, where he knew every tile, every hand and foothold in walls, where nothing could slow him...  
He was ripped from his musings by a familiar voice, which seemed anything but pleased.

“Novice. What business brings you here? Make it quick.”

Malik?  
Sure enough, once he had dropped in through the opening and walked inside the bureau, the dark-haired man stared at him with his bushy brows furrowed. But the glare wasn’t intended for him and for a second, Malik’s expression faltered.

“Oh, Ezio. I almost confused you with-”  
“Your eyesight failing you from all those dusty maps, brother?”

The frown intensified again as Malik glared at Altaïr, who had walked into the office behind his apprentice.

“Your arrogance is as always, insufferable, Altaïr. What do you want?”

The Assassin paused in front of the desk, letting his eyes sweep over the map with little interest. Ezio positioned himself by the doorway where he could overhear the conversation but could also keep an eye on the open courtyard of the bureau. He didn’t quite understand why no one here posted guards on the rooftops, what with Assassins being so well-known and widespread. It would have made sense to him, but then again, he wasn’t complaining about a circumstance that made his ‘job’ easier.

“I am here for the marker.”

“Not so fast. First tell me what you have learned of your target.”

Altaïr gave an annoyed, tiny grunt. Malik’s impertinence had always struck a nerve with him, always gave him the distinct impression that the man seemed to have wished for a harsher fate to be bestowed on Al Mualim’s favourite pupil. Well, too bad for Malik that Altaïr was working his way back up.

“Talal, a slave-trader,” Altaïr rattled off the facts he had gathered from overhearing conversations all around the city and Malik gave a slight nod of approval.

“I will give you Al Mualim’s marker.”

The Assassin paused before he picked up the feather that Malik had almost thrown at him from the counter.

“He is staying here.”

Ezio looked up only to find a cold, golden gaze resting on him. His stomach churned in anger, almost like a snarling little beast, irritated by Altaïr’s sudden change of mood.  
Malik fixed Altaïr with a beady eye of disapproval.

“He is your responsibility, novice.”

“And I am saying he will stay here. I can’t afford to have him make a spectacle.”

“What?!”  
Ezio bristled, leaving his post at the doorway and taking a few steps to stand in front of his ‘mentor’. The two men were equal in height, but Altaïr exuded something that made Ezio feel as if he was looming over him from a great distance, judging every twitch, every breath, every movement he made. The argument lasted only for a silent minute, then Ezio turned away, giving a little irritated click of his teeth, but ultimately submitting to the man’s will.

Altaïr’s lips moved up a fraction into a condescending smirk.

“Good boy.”

The Italian was close to punching that scarred mouth, knocking that smug expression right out of his face...But he said nothing and took a seat in corner covered in pillows.

“Try not to get killed, brother.”

Altaïr left silently, leaving Malik glaring at Ezio and the Italian seething quietly in the corner.

 

“...That man’s arrogance is unbelievable.”

Malik blew out his breath, closing his eyes for a minute and touching his forehead, as if he could already feel the approaching headache this young man was bound to give him. So much for continuing to enjoy a peaceful afternoon.

Ezio stayed put in his corner, cleaning his impeccable equipment out of habit. He was not used to being ‘parked’ anywhere, he was always at the point of action, never away from a fray. Altaïr had crossed a line in his mind, had injured his pride in a way no one had ever done before. And Ezio found himself wondering why. The man he’d been following around for days, the one whom he even shared sleeping chambers with (though not by choice) obviously regarded him as nothing but a burden. Maybe it was just that, being treated as if he was not the one carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, maybe that was what grated on Ezio’s nerves. It reminded him only too starkly that he did not belong here.

And it seemed Altaïr was intent on making him feel exactly that.

An hour or maybe even two later, Ezio had lost track of time musing his thoughts, someone interrupted the calm, quiet atmosphere of the bureau. The Italian looked up, ready to give a piece of his mind to Altaïr, but faltered when he noticed the grey hood, the slight build, the messy black hair revealed as the hood fell back.

“Kadar, that was fast.”

Malik’s voice softened as it always did for his little brother and those eternally furrowed brows actually relaxed a trifle. Kadar glanced around at the silent Ezio, who looked uncannily like Altaïr in those white robes. Even the scar on their lips...

Uncanny, definitely.

“It wasn’t a hard task you gave me, brother.”

“You shouldn’t take any task I give you lightly Kadar.”

“I know and I didn’t.”

Kadar handed something to Malik that looked like a simple ink-pot and then wandered over to the cushions where Ezio was reclining, looking a little lost and definitely dissatisfied with the world.

“I thought you were master Altaïr for a second, brother. Your resemblance to him is remarkable.”

Ezio felt his lips quirk at the side of his mouth, holding back all the objections he had to being compared to the man who’d dumped him here like a child. But Kadar took no mind of his silence and continued speaking to him.

“I have been meaning to ask you about...that, brother. You said....well you seemed to know master Altaïr when you arrived. Like he wasn’t a complete stranger to you. Forgive me my curiosity, but why is that so?”

Ezio let the words, still sounding a little strange in the language that was technically foreign to him, sink in, wondering what Kadar really wanted him to say. Was he greedy to know what happened in the future?

“He’s a legend...in my time. Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad was our Order’s greatest Mentor...”

“He was Mentor?” Malik gave a disapproving snort along a condescending sneer as he peered down his long nose at Ezio, “That novice?”

Ezio was inclined to defend his personal master, simply because despite of the way Altaïr treated him, he was still someone he looked up to. Ever since he’d laid eyes on the codex and that statue of his ‘ancestor’, he had felt...something. Connected, on a strange level he never really gave any thought to. Meeting Altaïr here and now in his own lifetime, that feeling had not left, but it had been shrouded by anger towards the man’s personality. Cold, distant, arrogant...

“He is the greatest mentor the Assassins have ever known and he built the Order the way it exists in my time...his teachings have helped me, his words have guided me...”

“You speak like a woman in love,” Malik grunted, cutting him short and tracing a compass over a map with a definitely disgruntled air about him. It was bad enough that Kadar looked up to Altaïr so much, he didn’t need another young man revelling about the arrogant fool as if he was somehow, spectacular.  
Sometimes he felt as if he was the only one to see what Altaïr really was. Talented, undeniably, but in his own way, blind. Blinded by a sense of pride he shouldn’t have.  
Malik had not forgotten Solomon’s Temple. How could he? There was nothing but a stump where his left arm used to be. There was nothing but a crippled man left in the place of the talented Assassin whose downfall had been following Altaïr. No, Malik Al-Sayf would never be able to look at Altaïr with reverence. He was but a child who had yet to learn that the world was not his cradle and being an Assassin meant far more than being able to kill silently.

“And you speak like a lover scorned,” Ezio retorted during Malik’s reverie and earned himself a bemused glare.

Kadar gave a little choked bout of laughter, he was probably the only person in existence who could in fact giggle when his brother was giving out that glare that could murder a legion of Templars.

“Please, Ezio, tell me more. What has master Altaïr done? Has he saved the Order from a great evil? Has he wiped out the Templars? I am so curious to hear of your time!”

“Kadar...” a warning grumble from the rafiq, but he didn’t continue.

“I do not know everything about his life, but be satisfied with the knowledge that Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad has achieved many great things and will be honoured timelessly. He and Masyaf were...are...will be the stuff of Assassin legends.”

“That is enough. Maybe your time knew a different Altaïr, but there is absolutely no need to fill that empty head of his with more undeserved pride!”

The Italian who had been seated quite calmly on the pillows felt a surge of irrational anger well up in him at Malik’s harsh words. Alright, he got the point, the rafiq did not like Altaïr in the slightest, whatever hatred lay between them a deep rift that did not allow for anything but a spiteful acceptance of the other’s presence, but there was no justification in the way the man practically spat on Altaïr’s name.

He opened his mouth and a flood of Italian curses left his lips, though he doubted Malik would misjudge the words’ purpose even if he couldn’t literally understand their meaning.

“You speak as if you hate him.”

The rafiq was about to reply, but his dark eyes moved up to the courtyard’s roof where a shadow passed by quickly as Altaïr dropped back into the office. The Assassin took a moment to wash his blood-stained face in the fountain and Malik shot Ezio a silent glance that spoke volumes.

Not a word of any of this to the man in question.

Ezio gave a grunt and got up to join Altaïr outside. His mentor turned and glanced down at the clenched fists, then to the angry set of Ezio’s jaw.

“Brother, I did not leave you here to spite you. It was a delicate mission.”

An eyebrow lifted as Altaïr noticed the anger in Ezio’s gaze was not directed at him, as he expected. He gave a slow look to Malik and Kadar, who seemed to be melting into the shadows a little shame-faced and silent. The rafiq met him with the usual disdainful look in his eyes.

“Ezio, what happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. Can we leave, Altaïr, or do you need rest?”

“...No, we can go.”

He would get an explanation on the way, or so he hoped. He had yet to witness Ezio being in a bad mood, the Italian had always seemed so...optimistic. Others might describe him as having a sunny disposition. Altaïr knew better than that, yet he had never seen any deeper layers to his exotic student.

The master Assassin felt himself grow curious. What on earth had managed to rattle at the bars of Ezio’s temper?


End file.
